Chapter Five
“I’m afraid we’re going to lose this one, Jordan,” Ellery Graham squirms in his chair and purses his lips, though he’s otherwise without emotion—always a difficult man to read. His hair, once jet black, is graying at the temples. This sign of his age makes him look distinguished and less like a ruthless Wall Street trader. And still, his manner is cool, smooth and elegant, and his blue eyes are prone to gaze suspiciously at anyone who disagrees with him.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Jordan responds. “Laughton isn’t about to make a decision. His ‘feelers’ for the market last year were just to scare up interest. Now that he has it, he can wait until he’s ready to make his mark.”
Ellery nods. He sits inside the cool of his white angular room, gazing out the wall of windows on the
